AN INNOCENT WISH--Little
did modern day Hillary Logan realize when she made her innocent wish for a
happy marriage, that she’d be waking up in bed next to a handsome nobleman--in
1815. Struggling to adjust to Regency England, she teaches the dashing marquess
a thing or two about love and “a woman’s place.”

A PLEASANT DIVERSION--Seeking a diversion from the ongoing horrors of the
Napoleonic Wares, Simon Altmont, looks forward to a liaison with the attractive
woman in his bed. She would make a perfect new mistress! He soon learns just
how different his mysterious Mrs. Logan really is. Has the Marquess of Darver
finally met his match?

Scene Set-Up:

On assignment in the past,
Serenity attends her first “haut ton” ball. As she studies the notorious rake,
Nicholas Wycliffe, Lord Brockton, she finds him studying her.

Excerpt:

Hillary’s cheeks radiated
heat. She knew her face had to be the color of her nightshirt--shocking pink.
She was standing there half-naked in front of the most desirable man she’d ever
come across--and a stranger to boot.

She fingered the long line
of buttons at her bodice. “I wish you’d hurry. I’m uncomfortable enough as it
is without you eyeballing me.”

Her frankness surprised her.
She shrugged it off as a case of the nerves. Who, in her position, wouldn’t be
nervous? Who, in her position, wouldn’t be nervous?

The man unsuccessfully
turned his laughter into a cough, and then he gave her that lopsided grin
again. “Certainly, my dear. Although I must say I have never heard such a
quaint manner of speaking. I find the term ‘eyeballing’ quite expressive, to be
sure.”

She tapped her foot. How
dare he make fun of her speech when he sounded so... so British!

His eyes gleamed with
mischief. “And such unusual night attire. I have never seen the like. Not that
you do not look fetching.”

“Impatient, m’dear?” He
completed his task and, properly covered by the robe, sauntered over to the
door. “May I suggest you take position behind the door? When it comes to
females, Finch can be disapproving. He does not understand that women can be
necessary at times.”

The man knew he was
infuriating. He knew it. Hillary frowned but followed his suggestion.
His gaze moved over her bare feet, lower limbs, knees, and partially exposed
thighs. She tried to pretend his scrutiny didn’t bother her but if her face got
any hotter, she’d scorch her eyebrows.

He
chuckled. “By the bye, shall I have a bottle of champagne sent up? To celebrate
our good fortune? Or rather, my good
fortune.”

She balled her fists. What
she wouldn’t give to floor the man. But she was in no position to argue.

Eyeing her combat-ready
hands, he raised one eyebrow. “No champagne? Perhaps you do not favor things
that are French?”

“If you please.” She spat
out the words.

Hi grinned, opened the door,
and called out into the corridor. “Finch. Finch, old boy, are you up?”

Hillary heard a shuffling
noise down the hallway. The shuffling stopped at the door. “Did you require me,
my--”

“My good man,” her bedfellow
interrupted. “I have a commission for you this early morn. I have an unexpected
companion with me--a charming one, I might add. It seems she has misplaced her
husband, Jim.”

He turned to her and used
the door as a barrier to hide her from Finch. “Jim what, my dear?” he asked,
not bothering to hide his amusement.

His eyes crinkled merriment
at her predicament. Damn the man! Hillary concentrated on keeping her voice
cool. “Jim Logan,” she said succinctly.

With his back to Finch, her
tormentor curved a finger under her chin. “I have been remiss. We have not
introduced ourselves. Simon Altmont, at your service.”

She met
his gaze and ignored the fluttery sensations that zigzagged down her backbone. Hoping she showed no emotion, she
raised her chin. “And I’m Mrs.Logan.”

His hearty laugh shook those massive shoulders.
Releasing her chin, he bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.”

Finch’s shuffle announced
that he still waited. Mr. Altmont turned back to him. “I need you to ferret out
this Jim Logan--discreetly, of course. If you have no success, then you must
find some suitable clothes for Mrs. Logan to wear.”

As if that wasn’t
embarrassing enough, her stomach decided to roar. Even Finch must have heard
it.

“Oh, and Finch,” Mr. Altmont
drawled, “do bring Mrs. Logan and me some breakfast. We have worked up an
appetite!”

Speechless, she stared at
him. Had she heard right? How dare he imply....

In that moment, there was
nothing Hillary wanted to do more than to murder the man.

Haunted by recurring
nightmares of doom, Savannah Alexander learns that the future and past are
irrevocably linked. Will she be able to save herself and the man she has grown
to love from the horrors that await her back in time... on the lost continent of
Atlantis?

In matters of love, Tom
Patterson has been hurt before. But when overwhelming coincidences bring
Savannah back into his life, can he put aside his prejudices and act upon faith
to protect the woman he loves?

Scene Set-Up:

A series
of “coincidences” brings childhood friends Savannah and Tom back to her
grandmother’s house in a small town. Neither of them recognize each other.
Savannah (S.E.) meets Tom’s daughter, Wendy, and invites them to have dinner
with her at her grandmother’s house.

Excerpt:

Something was happening to
Tom. Something he didn’t understand. Maybe it was the domestic routine or
perhaps the homey atmosphere. He’d wanted to find those things when he’d
married seven years ago, but marital bliss had eluded him.

He ran his hand through his
hair. That failure was in the past. Tonight, his bizarre frame of mind was due
to S.E. He agreed with his daughter; the initials didn’t do the woman justice.
She was beauty personified, looking cool and luscious in a silk designer blouse
and sexy crepe slacks.

Standing in back of her as
she efficiently handwashed the dishes, he fought an urge to spin her around and
kiss the living daylights out of her.

Madness! What the devil was
wrong with him?

To prevent his hands from
wandering over her tempting body, he jammed them into his pockets. “This
morning, who would’ve guessed Wendy and I would be here in East Prairie
tonight, having supper in this house, with a beautiful stranger?”

He hadn’t intended to
mention the word beautiful but it just slipped out. Holding his breath, he
waited for S.E.’s reaction.

It was slow in coming. She
finished rinsing off the dishes, then dried her hands on a towel. “If that’s a
compliment, Dr. Patterson, I thank you.”

Their gazes held. This time,
when he lowered his voice, it was to convey his desire. “No, I thank you.”

Her lips parted. It was a
sign; she wanted him, too. At least he hoped that was so. He closed the scant
distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. Dear Lord, the
merest touch of her made his head reel. He leaned closer. “S.E., I--”

A determined young miss, a
battle-weary lord, and a reckless masquerade. What will the Earl of Tremaine do
when he discovers his page's shocking secret?

More Than She Bargained
For--

Danielle Galloway is
determined to visit her convalescing brother. She won't let her father's lack
of permission stand in her way. Disguising herself as Danny, a servant boy, she
takes to the road to begin her grand adventure...only to have her money stolen
and her face battered by street ruffians. Now how will she get to the resort
town of Bath?

More Than He Bargained For--

The Earl of Tremaine rescues
a down-on-his-luck young lad. Against his better judgment, he takes Danny on as
his page as he journeys to Bath. But this boy harbors a shocking secret. What's
the earl going to do when he discovers his latest act of kindness might hurl
him into the parson's mousetrap?

EXCERPT:

Danielle had a wonderful
view of the earl's broad shoulders and his dark hair as he rested his head
against the rim back of the hip bath. For a moment she watched him soap up a
sponge and lather his muscular arms. The masculine scent of bay rum filled the
air.

"Tell me about
yourself, Danny. Beside doing odd jobs for the local gentry, what else do you
do?"

She wanted to keep her gaze
averted, yet, since she was behind him, he'd never know if she did peek.

The plip-plop sound of water
dripping back into the tub as he glided the sponge over his skin teased her
against all distraction. She bit her lip. Why did her nerves seem to be
stretched to the limit?

"Um, some days I pass
the time riding, my lord. I, um, fish, as well." Without her father's
knowledge, of course. Fine ladies did not indulge in fishing.

"I see." The earl
held up the sponge. "You may wash my back now."

Gracious, if her teeth
didn't start to chatter! Still behind him, she took the sponge and he leaned
forward so she could have better access.

As she lathered his back
with fragrant soap, she admired the powerful contour of muscles. She would've
stopped at his upper back, but he insisted she reach further down.

She gulped back her unease.
She was in heaven and hell at the same time.

Then she noticed a jagged
spot of mottled skin, just under the left shoulder blade. She gently ran her
fingertips over its ribbed surface.

"My lord, what is
this?" As soon as she spoke, she flushed. She had no right to ask a
personal question.

Her impertinence didn't seem
to bother him. "Shrapnel," was his immediate reply. "Sea battle
back in March, near the island of Lissa."

"Where is Lissa?"
Geography had never been her strong point.

He tilted his head back to
laugh, a rich, baritone sound. "Ironic, is it not? My page has no idea
just where in the world it was that I almost lost my life"

"Oh, I am so sorry! I
did not--"

He raised his hand,
splashing her with warm water. "No matter, halfling. I survived, as you
can see. The island of Lissa is in the Adriatic Sea, an inconsequential pawn in
our war against the French."

Shrugging his shoulders, he
leaned his head forward. "Time to wash my
hair. Pour the water."

Danielle struggled with the
heavy bucket, and as she poured, he ran the bar of soap over his hair. A sudsy
white froth mixed in with the black and grey. Wisps of steam rose up from the
hip bath, enveloping them both.

"Use the pitcher now to
rinse," he ordered.

The brass pitcher was easier
to pour, and soon his hair was clean.

Without warning, he stood,
dripping water back into the bath. Then he stepped out. She blindly rushed for
a thick Turkish towel and for his dressing gown. Hurrying back to him, all the
while averting her gaze, she helped him into the robe.

As he tied the belt, he
exclaimed, "Begad! Every blasted bone in my body feels as if I served time
on an infamous torture rack. I shall sleep well tonight."

He rubbed the towel over his
head. When his hair was sufficiently dried, he threw the towel on the floor.
Then he strode to the bed. "I shall retire now, Danny, even though the
hour is still early. No doubt Raleigh plans to carouse until dawn. It is the
curse of the young to be so foolish."

She rushed over and pulled
back the bedsheets.

"Be a good lad and
dispose of the hip bath. The remaining bucket of water is for you to wash off
your travel dirt. Or use the hip bath, if you prefer."

Danielle eyed the water
bucket, then the earl. She desperately needed a wash, but however could she
manage it?

Before she could blink, he
slipped under the covers without the benefit of his dressing gown. Nor a
nightshirt. He rested matter-of-factly, on the mattress, in only the clothes
God had given him.

Goodness! She couldn't help
a fierce flush from burning her face. In all her twenty years on earth, she
never had such an excessively bizarre day as she had today.

Year:
2452. Seeking a cure for her ill brother, Sophia (Sam) McLaren must leave Earth
to journey into the unknown. She finds galactic intrigue... plus a love
transcending the vast expanse of space. But can she persuade JorVaal 5 that
love can be forever?

JorVaal 5 Lanquist has a galactic catastrophe on his
hands¾plus a headstrong female
from the despised planet Earth. Will he be able to set aside age-old prejudices
and admit he’s actually feeling an ancient emotion called love?

Scene Set-Up:

Newly arrived on the strange
world of Xaspaar, Sophia hurries to meet her friend Fredd for lunch. The
planet’s leader, JorVaal 5, who dislikes Earthers, isn’t aware of Sophia’s
origin, and believes she agreed to meet him for a sexual encounter.

Excerpt:

Sam
hurried down the shiny grey corridor as fast as she could. She tried not to
stand out in the crowd, which was pretty hard to do with a Yankees’ cap sitting
squarely on her head. While all the people passing her did have a spring to
their step, evidently running was something that just wasn’t done. But she had
to hurry; she was that late. It was really impolite to keep Fredd waiting.

She
concentrated on keeping one foot in front of the other and refused to be
distracted by the strange sights around her. Deep breaths fueled her motion.
After leaving the Health Bureau, she’d gotten lost, of course. No surprise
there. All these tunnels looked the same. All dim, sleek, and impersonal. And
no windows. In fact, ever since arriving, she hadn’t had a glimpse of the
outside.

Creepy.

She
scratched her upper arm and kept her vision focused straight ahead. How could
these people stand being sequestered away like this? Like worms. Even the
Health Bureau where Mart was having tests done was windowless--no rooms with a
view, no peepholes, nothing. She’d never experienced claustrophobia but if she
didn’t get a chance to see at least some sky, she’d go nuts. This was like
being buried alive.

Her
heart thudded to keep up with her activity. Wiping away perspiration from her
upper lip, she adjusted her cap once again. Central Control was supposed to be
up ahead. Only a few more steps.

Without
warning, a man stepped right in front of her. “Citizen... dear one, no need to
continue your travels. Here I am.”

Unfortunately,
her own personal brakes weren’t as effective as her reliable bicycle brakes
back home. She bumped into whoever was foolish enough to block her way.

But
circumstances demanded that she
apologize. “Excuse me--”

Oh,
good heavens! It was him; it was JorVaal 5 Lanquist. Of all people to literally
run into!

As
she caught her breath, she had a chance to look him over. His athletic physique
was again enhanced in the form-fitted GCC uniform. When he folded his arms
across his massive chest, each movement rippled the velvet-like material of his
shirt. Powerful thigh muscles bulged from the close-weave fabric of his pants.

Heavens,
the man was impressive, all right. And just as handsome as she remembered.

But
definitely not safe.

She
took a good step back from him. “I, um, I do beg your pardon.” Her upper lip,
previously wiped, now beaded up again with perspiration.

“No
need, dear one.” He smiled and took her elbow. “I do not hold your tardiness
against you. Come, we still have eighty-five point four minutes to the
interval.”

His
firm touch sent tingling sensations throughout her entire body. Pleasurable and
alarming. But she could be firm as well. With her other hand, she
disengaged her arm.

“I’m
late, that’s true. But my appointment is with Fredd Desilva, not you. If you
will excuse me.”

But
he had other ideas. He gripped her upper arm, effectively stopping her
movements and her blood supply.

“You
are Fredd’s friend?”

She
tilted her head at JorVaal. “Yes. Is that so odd?”

Lines
of concentration marred his high forehead. “You cannot mean you prefer to be
with him over me.”

His
words were a statement, not a question. Of course it would have been terribly
rude to laugh at his conceit, but his affronted expression sorely taxed her.

She
sucked in her cheeks instead. “He’s my friend, and actually, to be perfectly
frank, you and I haven’t even been introduced.”

He
must have been aware that standing still in the middle of the corridor was
attracting attention, although maybe he was used to people staring at him.
Releasing her, he gestured for her to follow him.

As
the direction was the same as Central Control, she complied.

“Explain
to me why being acquainted has anything to do with satisfying biological
appetites,” he demanded.

She
glanced away to hide her smirk. Biological appetites! Another way to phrase
making love.

Her
mirth now under control, she looked him in the eye. “For one thing, knowing the
person you’re eating with increases the chance to have a more stimulating
conversation.”

He
mulled over her words. “Yes, that is true. So you go to dine with Fredd. That
is good, however, I was referring to coitus.”

She
felt herself flush; she couldn’t help it. Who was used to plain speaking about
such a private topic? Certainly not her. And certainly not with an extremely
attractive man no matter what his opinion of himself was.

She
twisted her top button open. “Um, I would have to say the same thing, then. The
better you know a person, the better the, um, relationship.”

Goodness,
did these people talk about everything so openly?

Thankfully,
she spotted the doors for Central Control. Now she could escape! “Well, I have
to go. Bye.”

JorVaal
blocked her way again. With his size, he was good at that.

Resigned,
she sighed. “Now what?”

His
pale blue eyes seemed to pierce a hole in her. “As I am in need of release, I
shall accommodate you in this formal fashion.” He inclined his head. “I am
JorVaal 5 Lanquist.”

His
silent “as if you didn’t know” hung heavily in the air. “And now,” he continued,
“tell Fredd you will dine with him after we are finished.”

The
nerve of the man! The laughter that she had been able to suppress before, now
came tumbling out. JorVaal’s steely glare quickly silenced her.

With
her lips quivering, she managed to say, “But you don’t know who I am, do you?”

Of
course he didn’t. She’d heard of JorVaal’s distaste for “Earthers.” She’d bet a
cool million once he found out who she was, he’d treat her like she had the
plague.

After
a second, he gripped it with his. “McLaren?” His deep voice held a note of
uncertainty.

Heaven
help her but she couldn’t resist. “Yes, perhaps you’ve heard of me? Sophia
Audrey McLaren. My brother Mart and I just arrived from Earth.” She gave him a
wide grin. “Nice little planet you have here, JorVaal.”